


opportunities to take advantage of

by youcouldmakealife



Series: giving in to the influence [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:37:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bowie?” Derek says, low, kind of soft, like a secret, and Andy looks over at him. “Can you please get up so our captain doesn’t kill me because he repeatedly told me to stop giving you drinks before you were too drunk to stand?”</p><p>“Okay,” Andy says, peaceably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	opportunities to take advantage of

**Author's Note:**

> This part is a bit of a literal take on the series title, so I'll just quickly warn you that all explicit things are done while neither participant is sober.

First, Andy would like to point out that he is really, really drunk the night before they all head their separate ways. He’s far from the only one. Everyone’s drinking a little bit to celebrate the end of a season, a little to mourn another unsuccessful season, and a lot because they’re all about to split up for the summer.

Andy’s already a little melancholy about this. He’s happy to be going home, he missed home, he missed Saskatchewan, but cleaning out his locker and packing up his stuff in his apartment was a reminder of how long summer would be, how far away he’d be from Ottawa. Derek invited him to come visit him in Brampton, but Andy doubts he meant it, it was one of those lazy, easy invitations that no one ever really means. He’d take him up on it, though, if he meant it, is a little jealous of the summers he describes, Blue Jays games and impromptu shinny matches with other NHL players around the GTA. He says Ottawa’s nightlife is laughable, compared to Toronto’s. 

Right now Andy’s pretty impressed with Ottawa’s nightlife, though twenty-something hockey players in the same place probably makes the place a little rowdier than it would be otherwise. They’ve commandeered a bunch of tables in the middle, and mostly made the rookies get the drinks, but Andy’s still eighteen, so Derek’s taken the hit for him and warned him that he is going to pay in blood or something. Andy didn’t hear him over Leon yelling something in French right in his other ear.

Andy knows he’s a lightweight, so he’s planning on sticking to beer, but Derek, who _also_ knows he’s a lightweight, presents him with shots and when Andy hesitates, reminds him that he just went to get the drinks for everyone. So Andy guesses that was the catch.

Andy does one then, and then holds on protectively to his pint of beer, which doesn’t help at all, because Derek appears periodically and makes him do another shot, whining about being drinks boy whenever Andy complains. Andy has a suspicion that he’s going to have a killer hangover tomorrow, but it looks like most of the team is as well, so maybe they can’t make fun of him for it if their own heads are pounding? 

In his head his mom is super unimpressed that he’s giving in to _peer pressure_ , but that’s one of the key things about being on a hockey team--you play hockey and you do stupid things. It’s a rite of growing up or something. Or that’s what Derek argues whenever he’s trying to talk Andy into doing stupid things that Andy inevitably does, because Derek looks pleading, and then Andy folds like wet cardboard.

The shots catch up with him sometime around midnight, but he keeps getting handed drinks, and by one, Andy is reluctant to get up because he’s not sure he’ll actually stay up, and he has a long way to fall. Derek comes and joins him from wherever he was, says, “Bowie, you’re aware you’re sitting alone at the table, right?”

Andy was dimly aware of that. He noticed, he just didn’t really do anything with his knowledge.

“Hi Derek,” Andy says, because he was alone, and now he’s not. He beams at him.

“Oh boy,” Derek says. “How drunk are you?”

Andy considers the question. “A lot,” he decides, finally.

“You are a lot drunk,” Derek repeats, slowly.

Andy nods. He is.

“Olsen’s going to kill me,” Derek says under his breath, then, “okay Andy, time to get up.”

“Nope,” Andy says, cheerful. “Staying here.”

“I’m taking you home,” Derek says. “Where Olsen can’t see that I poisoned the rookie.”

He tugs a bit on Andy’s arm, but Andy feels heavy, and probably _is_ heavy, so it doesn’t really do much.

“Bowie?” Derek says, low, kind of soft, like a secret, and Andy looks over at him. “Can you please get up so our captain doesn’t kill me because he repeatedly told me to stop giving you drinks before you were too drunk to stand?”

“Okay,” Andy says, peaceably, and standing is difficult, but manageable, with Derek supporting some of his weight. Derek makes Andy throw his arm around his shoulder, and Derek’s a bit shorter, but he’s more solid, can take Andy’s weight and is a warm line against Andy’s side.

Derek helps him toward the door, and Andy waves goodbye to the remaining guys. Most of them wave back, though Olsen does that sort of disconcerting stare he does sometimes.

“Olsen’s staring,” Andy whispers to Derek.

“Awesome,” Derek says, kind of sarcastically, and hauls Andy out the door, into a waiting cab. He gets in beside him, and then says an address that sounds familiar but isn’t Andy’s.

“That’s not my address,” Andy says.

“Nope,” Derek says, “It’s mine. I don’t want you to die in your sleep and Blumm’s almost as drunk as you are.”

“You’re not drunk,” Andy says, confused. Derek’s always drunk. Okay, not always, that’s ridiculous, but if there’s going to be drinking, Derek’s going to be one of the guys drinking the most.

Derek laughs. “Dude, I am so drunk. I’m only sober in comparison to _you_.”

Andy considers this information for their short ride, or, he considers it then his eyelids get sort of heavy so he just leans against the window.

“Wake up,” Derek says. “Up we get.”

Andy makes a protesting noise, but he lets Derek nudge him out of the car, then into his house, install him on his couch. He disappears for a few minutes, and just when Andy’s starting to drowse again, returns with a couple bottles of water.

“This is your mission, if you choose to accept it,” he says, and Andy laughs at him, because he will never be drunk enough to find that anything but super cheesy. He takes the first bottle though, drinks it in slow, measured sips, like he’s been taught to. 

Derek sits beside him, drinks from his own, and when Andy finishes and holds out the empty bottle to Derek, Derek ruffles his hair. “Good boy,” he says, and Andy thinks he should be offended or something, but it just makes him smile.

“Bed?” Derek asks. “I’ll take the couch.” 

Andy shakes his head. “Not sleepy,” he says, even though his eyelids are kind of drooping again, because he likes sitting here, Derek’s thigh against his, their elbows knocking. It’s not an uncommon position for them to be in, but usually they’re playing video games and Derek’s elbowing Andy in the side on purpose because there’s no way he’ll win otherwise.

“More water?” Derek says, and Andy shakes his head, leans on him.

“You’re like a fucking puppy,” Derek says, and Andy would argue, but Derek’s started running his fingers through his hair kind of absently, and it feels good, so he isn’t going to do anything that might make that stop. 

“Okay, definitely bed,” Derek says, sounding kind of far away, and Andy blinks his eyes open slowly, lets Derek guide him to his room, which Andy’s never seen before. It’s a total mess, but the bed’s cleared off at least, even if it’s unmade, with the comforter hanging off the corner. 

Andy fumbles with his belt, hands clumsy, and Derek laughs at him for a whole minute where Andy’s pathetically losing against his own clothing, before he nudges Andy’s hands away and undoes his belt for him.

And just like that, Andy isn’t sleepy anymore, not even close, because Derek’s _undoing his belt_ , his hand brushing warm against Andy’s belly, and Andy sucks in a breath, looks at him, wide-eyed. Derek seems to realise how weird it is to undo your friends’ belts for them a second after Andy does, and he snatches his hands back. “Um, I think you’ve got it from here?” he says, blushing. Andy doesn’t think he’s ever seen him blush before. It looks good on him, but Andy thinks everything looks good on him, pretty much. 

“I don’t know?” Andy says, and he doesn’t even know why this leaves his mouth, the second it does he’s super mortified, probably goes redder than Derek, as red as his hair, “I may have some trouble with my jeans.”

He honestly can’t believe he just said that, and he doesn’t know what he wants, for Derek to pretend he didn’t and go to the couch so that they can pretend it never happened tomorrow, or to laugh it off as a joke, or. Well. To help him with his jeans. Which is ridiculous, he would never do that, but still.

“Andy,” Derek says, quiet, and Andy’s already messed this all up, he knows it, and that plus the alcohol must make him brave, because he leans down and presses his mouth against Derek’s. It’s not even really a kiss, he gets his lips against Derek’s lips and then he freezes, because he hasn’t done this before--he’s kissed people, he’s not that much of a dumb virgin, but it’s never been someone he actually liked, let alone someone he’s liked as much as he likes Derek, who he can’t stop thinking about, even when he’s not there, though he’s always there.

He stops once he’s managed it, all his courage gone, and there’s this awful moment where he waits for Derek to pull away and deck him, or laugh at him, or look at him with that pity he does whenever he gets reminded Andy’s a virgin, which would be the worst thing, Derek knowing it and feeling bad for him.

But that doesn’t happen, Derek just makes a noise against his mouth, Andy doesn’t even know how to explain it, just, a _noise_ , and then he’s kissing him back. Andy isn’t quite sure what to do, but it’s all instinct, now, he’d never thought kissing could be instinctive because he was always so awkward and embarrassed when it did happen, and he is, he’s awkward and embarrassed, but he also wants this, he wants Derek all the time and he’s not messing this up, he can’t mess this up, so he goes by instinct for once, something he only ever manages on the ice, and when Derek’s tongue slides over his bottom lip he just parts his mouth, tongue curling against his. 

This is the filthiest thing he’s ever done, and every single guy would laugh at him for that, Derek included, he’s seen Derek go home with girls and presumably have sex with them, and here the little rookie is, blown away by a kiss. But he is, and he’s not ashamed of it, embarrassed but not ashamed, and embarrassment only does so much when what little thinking your brain could do with all the alcohol is slapped down even further by all the blood in your body going south.

When Derek pulls back from the kiss Andy tries to follow, and nearly knocks heads with him. This is probably a sign that he’s too drunk to be doing this, but he wants to. That has never once been enough of an excuse for him to do anything, but this time he’ll take it, if that means that he doesn’t have to stop, or that he doesn’t have to see the look on Derek’s face right now, nudging right up against the pitying one.

“Andy,” Derek says, quiet, just like before, and Andy doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, what his name is supposed to mean, soft like that.

“Please,” he says, and the moment the word leaves his mouth he wants to take it back, but he can’t. 

“Fuck,” Derek says, so low Andy almost doesn’t hear him, then he’s pulling Andy back in, his mouth hot, a hand burning like a brand through Andy’s t-shirt. His other hand is fumbling with the button of Andy’s jeans, and Andy’s hands clench and unclench on his biceps, as Derek gets his fly undone, shoves his jeans and his boxers down, one-handed, just enough that his dick’s free. When his hand wraps around Andy, Andy bites his lip accidentally, but he can’t help it, he doesn’t know if it’s because it’s the first hand touching him that isn’t his own, or just because it’s _Derek_ , but he can’t handle it, leaning too much weight on Derek because he doesn’t know how he’s going to keep standing otherwise.

What Derek does isn’t anything fancy, even Andy knows that, is exactly what Andy does when he has to jerk off quickly, not the kind when he has hours before anyone else will be home. There’s no tease, it’s just...it’s efficient, or something, and too soon Andy’s making noise against Derek’s mouth, coming in his fist.

When Derek pulls back, his mouth is red and wet, from Andy’s mouth and his teeth, jeez, and his eyes are even darker than usual. Andy stares at him, completely wordless, out of breath and unable to think, and it’s worse when his eyes drop down to Derek’s jeans, and it’s impossible to ignore the way he’s straining them, erection trapped. Andy’s still a little dumb and slow with orgasm, but he reaches out, tries to reel him back in, before Derek pulls back further, sidesteps him.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, voice strained.

“I can--” Andy starts.

“No,” Derek interrupts. “Just. Just go to bed, Andrew.”

Andy opens his mouth, but Derek’s already leaving the room, the sound of the bathroom door closing loud even in the bedroom, and everything catches up with him at once, the alcohol and the long night and the wrung dry post-orgasm feeling that always hits him, so he kicks his jeans and boxers off, crawls into Derek’s bed, and is asleep before Derek leaves the bathroom.

*

When Andy wakes up it’s to his head pounding, and he keeps his eyes shut, hopes if he doesn’t move it’ll go away. It doesn’t, just stays, a steady throb, so it takes him a minute to register that he’s only wearing a t-shirt, another minute to register this isn’t his bed, and finally to remember what exactly happened last night.

And if he wasn’t nauseous before, he is now. 

He manages to sit up. It’s dim, even though he fell asleep with the lights on, so Derek must have come in at some point, especially since there’s a glass of water and some aspirin on the table beside the bed. Andy takes the pills and can’t help but gulp the water down, mouth desert dry, before he makes himself get up, put on his boxers and jeans, still in a puddle on the floor.

He pauses at the bedroom door for a minute. He doesn’t know what to expect, whether Derek is going to be pissed, or pretend it never happened, or be a dick about being the person to take Andy’s virginity. He doesn’t even know if Derek _likes_ guys, maybe this was just the same pity, Derek making sure the rookie doesn’t become a _nineteen_ year old virgin. And then there’s the tiny part of him he won’t really admit exists, hoping that it turns out Derek wanted him all along, just didn’t want to take _advantage_ , and…

He knocks his head against the door, takes a deep breath, and opens it.

With all the scenarios he thought about, he didn’t actually think of the one that he’s faced with, which is that Derek isn’t here at all. There’s a blanket and a pillow on the couch, and coffee’s percolating, but Derek’s nowhere. So disgusted he couldn’t even be in the same place as Andy, probably.

Andy stands in the middle of his living room for five minutes, waiting. Waiting for what, he doesn’t even know, whether it’s for Derek to come back or maybe a meteor to crush him, but after the five minutes he exhales, and goes to find his stuff. His shoes and jacket are both in Derek’s hall, and he slides them on, makes sure his stuff’s all in his coat and pockets, because Derek probably doesn’t want him showing up because he forgot his wallet or his house keys. He can’t lock Derek’s door behind him when he goes, which makes him feel guilty, but he needs to go home and crawl into bed and keep hoping that he didn’t ruin things with his best friend because of his stupid _crush_ , so he leaves anyway.

It’s only a ten minute walk home, and Blumm’s either already out or hasn’t come home yet, so Andy has peace and quiet, grabs two bottles of Gatorade from the fridge and heads to his room, not bothering to turn the lights on, just kicking his jeans off and crawling into bed. He doesn’t like to feel sorry for himself, he’s been told it’s not constructive, but he can’t help it right now, the season’s over and Derek wasn’t there when he woke up, and he can’t _help_ it.

He’s drifting back to sleep, the aspirin kicking in enough to dull the throb of his temples, when his phone buzzes in his jeans, and he reaches down to grab it.

 _where r u???_ it reads, from Derek, and Andy stares at it for a minute before he starts to believe he didn’t actually ruin everything.

 _have 2 finish packing_ , he sends back, and hauls himself out of bed, because he doesn’t lie if he can help it, and he does have to finish packing to go home, he’s put it off too long.

 _k. c u b4 u leave?_ Derek sends, and then _:)_ , like he’s just intent on making Andy want him so much it’s embarrassing. 

_promise_ , Andy sends, and then pulls his suitcase out of his closet, steels himself for a summer without Derek, and pushes the thread of questioning, the part that wants to know what last night meant, right down. It doesn’t matter, he still has Derek, so it doesn’t matter. For all he knows, Derek doesn’t even remember, and that’s probably the way it should be, like it never happened.

Andy starts drilling that into his head, _it never happened_ , so maybe eventually he’ll believe it.


End file.
